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Roman straightens, letting out a feral groan as he watches my fingers move over my slippery flesh.
It’s all too much. The heat twisting like a live wire deep inside me is going to snap any second. “I’m close,” I pant. “I’m so close…”
His hot, hungry gaze sears into me. “I can’t wait to see how beautiful you look when you’re coming around me.”
His words send a lance of pleasure directly to my core. With a few more thrusts and a few more swipes of my fingers, the tension within me shatters. My muscles seize and my spine arches as pure ecstasy courses through my veins.
With a strangled curse, he rises to his knees and lifts my hips, driving into me with hard, deep strokes, hitting that perfect spot inside me over and over again.
Tears leaking from my eyes, I call out his name as a second, even more powerful orgasm crashes over me.
“Fuck, Chloe.” His movements are harsh and choppy. “You’re making me—” With a final thrust, he groans long and deep. I feel every hard throb of his cock as he empties himself into the condom.
God, if only he were emptying into me. Filling me completely. Leaving me with that memory after this night is over.
It’s never been something I’ve craved or even experienced before. And it’s a stupid thought. One I firmly push from my mind.
Because as he withdraws from me, leaving my body sated but achingly empty, I know this is the moment when our night together ends.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROMAN
My heart slams against my ribcage, the aftershocks of my orgasm still vibrating through me when I pull out of Chloe. After stripping off the condom, I tie a knot in it and drop it on top of my discarded clothes to deal with later.
Chloe is stretched out next to me, close but not touching. Her eyes are averted, her attention turned toward the window.
This should be my cue to get up and go. To start the process of stepping back. We’ve slaked our thirst for each other, and now it’s time to put it behind us.
Instead, I tug her in close and settle her so she’s half on top of me. I wasn’t exactly gentle with her. The least I can do is let her catch her breath before I leave her all alone in this big bed.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I skim my fingers up and down her still-damp skin, grazing over her spine.
For a few minutes, our gradually slowing breaths are the only sounds. The near silence is oddly comfortable, encouraging my muscles to loosen. My lungs expand as if it’s the first deep breath I’ve taken in a long time.
Chloe’s slender fingers trace small circles on my chest. “It’s such an incredible view.” Her voice is soft and a little dreamyas she regards the Eiffel Tower beyond the window, still lit up against the black sky.
“The first time we came to Paris,” I say, surprising myself, “I was nine. So Cole was four, I think, and Tate was about a year old.”
Her movements stop, but only for a moment before she silently continues caressing me.
“Mom and Dad were out to some event, and after the nanny put us to bed in our hotel suite, Cole and I snuck out and sat on a balcony a little like the one out there. He asked me if the Eiffel Tower was a rocket ship.”
She smiles against my chest, the sensation making me smile too. I don’t let myself dwell too much on my childhood. I’d rather focus on the present and the future. On the things I can change.
But here in the dark, with this woman in my arms, memories send a rush of warmth through me.
“What did you tell him?”
“I said it was. And that if we could climb to the very top, it would fly us away to another planet.”
The soft breath of her laugh flutters against my skin.
“He asked if I could help him climb to the top the next day. When I said I’d think about it, he told me we could only do it if we took Tate and our nanny with us.”
“Your nanny?”
There’s a deeper question there. Why our nanny and not our parents?